


Where I End and You Begin

by syntheticvision



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alpha Steve Rogers, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Angst, Beta Wanda Maximoff, Creepy Brock Rumlow, F/M, Fluff and Smut, References to Depression, Slow Burn, Vision is a Musician
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-03
Updated: 2020-08-21
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:21:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 15,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25681951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/syntheticvision/pseuds/syntheticvision
Summary: A down on her luck Omega picks up a seedy side job to make extra money, tired of towing the line of poverty and homelessness. Even if her best friend Wanda says she'll take care of her, she's prepared to show everyone she doesn't need the help. She's fine being by herself and surviving.Until Steve Rogers comes back into her life like a whirlwind.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 29
Kudos: 87





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Back with another A/B/O fic that no one asked for because I am pure trash. I've made my peace with it.
> 
> As usual, tags will be added with each chapter.

“How much do people actually pay for that?” Wanda asks, her blue eyes wide in wonder, watching me lick a mailing envelope and seal it. The adhesive has a weird sweet but rubbery taste that I’ve always hated and liked at the same time.

The package slides down the metal chute, waiting to be whisked away to the waiting recipient of slick laden underwear. At one hundred bucks a pop, they sell out quickly. Cheap by my standards. I’ve seen them go for higher but I’m not gonna price gouge. It's never been up to me anyway.

There was an Omega who opened a whole Etsy shop a few years ago. Same sort of concept. An entrepreneur selling her designation. A whole line of various colors of underwear, scents and bottled slick. She made a fortune until her supply started to run out due to constant demand. Updates on her blog mentioned her reliance on heat inducing drugs to keep up with her orders. A message from her team on Twitter said she almost died and that the store would be in hiatus for a week. The site still exists but it hasn’t operated in months. People still comment, begging her to reopen her shop.

If Wanda is disgusted by my chore, she doesn’t show it. Maybe this is type of behavior is beneath her. We've never actually talked about it. She’s a Beta. They don’t have to worry about things like heats or the fact an Alpha can pull you from the street and fuck you senseless just because they like your scent. Jobs were hard to come by these days, especially in this economy. I was lucky enough to still have my desk clerk job at the hotel.

Wanda is married to some English dude named Vision, who is in some experimental electronic rock band. His real name is Jarvis but no one ever calls him that. I never do. Vision sounds exponentially cooler. Their concerts are always live streamed because they always sell out tickets within minutes. Now that’s she’s been in wedded bliss for a whole six months, traveling across the world, she’s trying to make up for lost time. I’d be lying if I didn’t say I missed her. Friends were hard to come by. Especially for me.

“How’s it going with rent this month?” Wanda asks. It sounds like a casual question but it’s meant to fish for answers. She knows she can’t come out and ask if I need money.

I rip off a hangnail from my index finger, my tongue touching the little blip of blood that appears on the side. I steal at look at her perfectly manicured nails. It probably cost a small fortune for those candy apple coffin shaped acrylics, but I still envy them.

“Got it covered.” This time it isn’t a lie. I’d dropped off six packages the beginning of the month. I had more than enough.

We pull into a McDonald’s and we wait behind a line of cars, sitting in silence while the usual tweak of annoyance flares up when I realize she’s trying to feed me. We don’t see each other as much as she would like – my fault, not hers. I’ve been on my own since I was sixteen. Five years later and I still feel like I have something to prove that I don't need anyone.

Relying on people wasn’t ever in the cards.

Wanda has always tried. Sometimes I feel like she thinks of me as a project she can work on. I know it isn’t true but the feeling is still there, ready to rear its ugly head when I start feeling sorry for myself. Which has been happening more than I care to admit.

When the overly chipper cashier asked for our order, Wanda recites the same order without missing a beat. It’s always an extra burger or a chicken sandwich. She’ll tell me it’s only in case I get hungry, but it’s meant to be reserved for when I’m hungry sometime in the future. And the future would usually be the next day, opening up the pitiful fridge with a sip of milk still in the carton. Hope in a brightly colored wrapper.

I do what I always do when we pull up to my apartment complex. There’s a mumbled thank you, the quick scramble to carry the extra heavy bag of food that Wanda has no intention of eating. She's been on this clean eating diet for months. A quarter pounder doesn't fall under any of those categories.

“I know you’re working tomorrow but I wanted to remind you again. Vis is having a listening party. Might be some people you could meet. Maybe network with…” she trails off once she sees my expression.

I reach for the door handle, examining the chipped paint on my ragged nails from too much anxious nail biting. There’s no way I’d fit into that world of bloggers, musicians and models. I'd be laughed right out of the house before I even stepped foot in the door. I felt a wave of depression begin to crest in my chest.

“Thanks for the ride,” I mumble, awkwardly ending our reunion because I feel like crying out of nowhere. If I’m lucky, my lights won’t be cut off and I can drown myself in Netflix before my free subscription is up.

“I know I say this all the time but… you know you always have a place to stay with Vis and I. Just say the word and we’ll move you in.”

“One day.” My hair covers the side of my face quickly enough so she doesn’t see the tears slip down my cheek. “Thanks for the food. Always coming in clutch.”

“You know it. Think about the party, okay? It’s at seven. I’d love it if you came. Think of all the people you’ll get to meet.”

I nod before I close the door of her brand new Audi, making sure it doesn't slam because I'm afraid it will break. She won't say she hates where I live but before I close the door, I can feel her judgement through the tinted window.

I'm in government subsided housing for Omegas, which means it's all about protection. Bulletin boards around here always have some speaker of the month who comes to stand in the multipurpose room and talks about empowerment. There's four parks in this complex alone for Omegas to take their kids to play. It's safe but almost too regulated. Alphas aren't allowed inside here and it's a pain when you have an Amazon package that needs to be delivered and you have to run outside to get it.

Wanda feels it does more harm than good to live here. I'd agree if rent wasn't so cheap.

I flicked the light switch up and down to make sure I wasn't going in blind. There's always a little sense of satisfaction and terror when the lights turn on. They were on tonight but who knew for the next night. I set down the bag on the counter and kicked off my shoes, tossing off a blanket from the recliner of where I slept last night.

Most of my furniture came from Wanda. She gave it to me when she moved in with Vision and I had been sleeping on a stack of sheets. It was high quality stuff. To the point I was meticulous about making sure I didn't eat on the couch so I didn't spill on the white fabric.

In the shadows of Stranger Things, I eat in silence, trying to pace myself but it's been a few days since I've eaten so chewing my food all but goes out of the window. I know I'll be on my feet all day tomorrow since I picked up Ayo's morning shift to get some extra money so I'm trying to store up my strength. It would be another few weeks until my next heat and now, sitting here alone, I'm starting to wonder if I want to even continue doing it.

Rumlow gets a fifteen percent cut from the profits I make when a request comes through on the website. He says I'm pretty popular but I never read the reviews. That's what the last Omega warned. Never do it. That's how Alphas lure you in. Offering you more money if you connect with them privately. I'm not stupid. Everyone knows what that means.

To anyone that logs onto that website, I'm merely a number. My age and designation. A hot pink V next to the numbers, eye catching and worth hovering over to see why it's expensive. Virgin Omega slick is worth more. People swear they can smell a difference in the pH.

I stuck my chicken sandwich in the fridge before I stretched out on the recliner. I probably shouldn't continue sleeping on it but the characters on the screen make it seem like I'm surrounded by familiar friends and I like it, weirdly enough.

It's comforting.


	2. Chapter 2

Working the front desk isn’t that bad until we overbook. When that happens, we have to break the news that even though they’ve paid well over eight hundred bucks a night to stay at this five-star resort, they will be shuttled over to the Ramada down the street for one night until someone checks out.

Even if the money gets refunded, even if you apologize profusely and send them over in a limo, there are no amount of ear plugs that can withstand a screaming influencer who demands you to know who they are.

I’ve seen myself on video in their Instagrams, obnoxious text edited over my head while I apologize and explain policy in the same monotone from the guest interaction videos that I've learned to recite word for word. _We apologize for the inconvenience_.

MJ snaps her gum while she searches through the hotel database, something we all do but never in front of Clint, our manager, who is standing inches away from her as she combs through the records. Her eyes dart back to the monitor after Clint disappears into his office.

“Ho-lee shit. Peter Quill’s staying here tonight. That’s pretty rad,” MJ mutters, trying to keep the excitement out of her voice. “He’s got the Palisades suite. That’s _pricey_.”

Peter Quill is the lead singer of MJ’s favorite band, The Guardians. Amazing band but Quill is a little too over the top for my tastes. MJ hums some song from their first album, busying herself with making more hotel packets with the maps that no one pays attention to, no matter how many times you circle their hotel room number and explain.

Arrivals checking in won’t be here until around two. Everyone is on high alert with the number of high-profile guests coming in, to the point it’s stifling with Clint hovering around, watching the custodians roll their eyes as he walks the marble floors, checking for any blemishes.

“As much as I love The Guardians, I don’t think I could be surrounded by all those industry people. Way too pretentious.” MJ shook her head with disgust and I found myself nodding in agreement. Vision isn't pretentious, he's just weird. Like David Bowie. Always ahead of his time.

She had a point. Still, I can’t take back the text I had sent to Wanda, accepting her offer to go. I didn’t even know what people wore to those things. Maybe my uniform would do. Standard navy skirt, overly starched white shirt and itchy navy blazer. MJ prowls around in six-inch navy heels, something I wouldn’t be able to do if I tried. Mine are kitten heels, whatever that means.  
  
“You excited?”

I shrug, watching a woman enter the lobby. Her hair is a red, parted down the middle with a short bob. Her heels clicking on the marble with every step, her tanned shapely thigh peeking out with the long slit in her dress. She made a beeline to MJ, who turned on her charm.

“Checking in. Natasha Romanoff.”

I couldn’t help but steal a look at her while more envy washed over me. Big movie star Natasha Romanoff, with her perfectly sculpted eyebrows, a blood red lip and ice blue eyes. That face was probably slathered with La Mer. I was lucky if I could afford something more than bar soap over my face.

“Of course, Miss Romanoff. Let me have someone come and escort you to your suite. Will your guest be joining you later?”

“Yes. I'll take his key. No need to have him come down again.”

I closed out a guest file, MJ activating the keys for the elevator and then the suite. She rattles off the features of the suite, Natasha bobbing her head as she's heard it before, too polite to say so but her eyes narrow with irritation until MJ finishes. Sharon, one of the VIP managers, dressed in a pantsuit and heels, beckons Natasha with a megawatt smile and they walk off. When you're spending almost 5K to stay here, people will follow you around and abide by your every whim.

The once quiet lobby begins to fill up with nervous personal assistants, business managers and entourages. Bellhops skitter past, heads down while they move through the growing line. Cell phones ring and chime, people speaking loudly as if they don't know what an inside voice is. The phones begin to ring, almost on cue. Two more clerks get to their stations and wave to get the attention of the next guest. It's an assembly line, full of questions and demands, like pool views and requesting a vegan only menu.

I check to see the capacity, my body tensing when the number pops up. There's ten rooms oversold.

I hope they like the Ramada.

✖️

Wanda swings by at five, picking me up in her fancy car with too many buttons while we drive back to her house. Her house is this industrial compound with a lot of rectangular windows and gray exterior. If it wasn’t for the lush manicured lawn, it would remind me of a prison.

Not that she had any say in this place – it was Vision’s before they were together and it made more sense for her to move in than for him to scout out another place. Wanda has her own art studio downstairs and there’s a massive pool in the backyard that we’ve both done our fair share of cannonballs in.

We’re greeted by a team of makeup artists once we make it into her bedroom, who scrub my face clean and pull, tweeze and poke until I’m handed a mirror. I don’t even look like myself. Winged eyeliner so sharp it could kill a man, contour that brings out high cheekbones that Wanda has always sworn up and down I was born with. A sheen of a frosted lip, angelic in a way that I try hard not to admire. I don’t stare at it too long. This isn’t a look I will ever be able to maintain but I am thankful that for one night, I get to look like somebody else.

Wanda pulls out a dress, black and tight. It’s long sleeved with the back completely cut, right down to the tailbone. It’s going to look amazing on her.

“That’s beautiful,” I admire, brushing off my blazer. “Changing it up a little? I like it.”

She laughs, tossing it to me. “It’s not for me. It’s for you.”

Oh.

No.

“I can’t wear that,” my mind trying to think of a thousand reasons how I could say no.

“Just try it on,” Wanda urged, holding up a pair of black heels. Just like the ones MJ wears.

There’s no refusing Wanda. Not after what she’s done for me and will continue to do for me because she has this big heart that makes my own heart break when I think of how much she cares without abandon.

The blazer and shirt find their way in the middle of the bed and the skirt pools down my ankles, the black dress replacing it. I feel like I can’t breathe, well aware of the AC that is pumping from the ducts above and onto my bare back.

“It looks beautiful!” She’s pushing me toward the mirror. “Don’t you think?”

I don’t look but nod anyway. If I look too long, I’ll wish I had it and wishing has never done me any good.

Wanda disappears into the bathroom momentarily, a spritz of perfume breaking my concentration on my freshly manicured nails. A faint pink, classy and pretty. Foreign from my usual black polish but I could grow to like this.

Vision enters the room with a flourish, hauling me up from where I was sitting, his arms wrapped around me before he lifts me into the air. My toes hover over the ground while I’m in his grip, his rose-colored glasses falling onto the carpet. For a Beta, he’s tall. Towering over even some Alphas.

“Stranger,” he nuzzles into my cheek before he puts me down. “Been too long.”

“It sure has.”

Vision swoops down to pick up his glasses, the chains around his neck giving me 70s porn star vibes with his open silk shirt and ankle length neon green pants. Every album means a different change of persona. I'm not quite sure what this one will be.

“Prepare to be amazed tonight. I’ve pulled out all the stops. Veuve Clicquot fountain for starters. Everyone needs to be buzzed out of their minds to appreciate the complexities of these pieces. Silent Disco. Let the subconscious come out and experience it the way it should be intended.”

Wanda gives him a grin full of admiration.

She’s always liked the artistic types. But this, the pupils dilating while pink tinges her cheeks while she looks up at him... this is love.


	3. Chapter 3

There’s a bright orange carpet, rolled down in front of a backdrop of the album cover and sponsors, waiting for people to pose on it before photo services snap them up and charge for the HQ photos.

Thankfully, I was able to skip the walk down this strip of neon, cameras flashing and photographers screaming names and directions. Left, right, look this way. The perks of being a nobody is that no one is going to try to get your attention when you walk past them.

Once I slipped inside, I realized one thing.

Vision did not only pull out the stops.

He went fucking insane.

Performers in glow in the dark costumes swung above the crowd, massive palm trees hovered over me, waiters in tuxedo jackets and black shorts circled around, dropping off glasses of alcohol. Fire knife dances were on two separate stages while music thumped through the massive speakers. A wrong turn into some MDMA wonderland.

Peter Quill was off to the side, double fisting his beers while he searched through the club. His eyes landed on his bass player, Gamora. I took up a seat at the bar, my black dress glittering under the house lights like some underworld goddess.

My eyebrows are still sore from the excessive plucking and I fight back the urge to rub them in fear my makeup will come right off. I wiggle them to calm the burning, catching the attention of the bartender, which makes me embarrassed. I order a lemon drop, trying to make it appear that I was trying to get his attention in the first place.

There are flashes and the sounds of cameras shuttering. Two supermodels stop to take a selfie in front of me, faces pressed up against each other before the flash of the camera lights up their faces and they go their separate ways.

Too many scents, pheromones masked under perfumes and colognes and it gives me a headache. Another lemon drop appears before I’m finished with the first. Vision stands on a stage, like an alien Jesus with green lights flooding over his body while the crowd whoops and hollers.

I try to pay attention to what he’s saying, his band tuning their instruments, nodding their heads in agreement when he describes the birth of their new sound. One thing Vision does well is give credit, the spotlight on each member who came up with every beat or lyric.

The scent of rain, the smell of a brand-new book and a touch of spearmint rushed to my senses, hitting me like a brick when a figure leaned against the bar, their back to me.

My lungs deflate like a balloon when the figure turns to look right in my direction. Like a deer in headlights, I freeze, mind devoid of any coherent thought. I'd know those broad shoulders and scent anywhere.

Under any other circumstance, I would have been better emotionally equipped to deal with seeing a ghost from my past but Steve Rogers is no ordinary man. He never has been.

"Hi." His voice carries over the loud music and straight to my heart.

"Hey."

He pulls up a bar stool next to me, almost as if he's trying to make sure I exist with how hard he is staring. I can't blame him, I feel like I'm doing the same thing.

The bartender sets down his drink in front of him.

A old fashioned, because of course that is what he would drink.

"Never pegged you as the partying type. Wanda must have finally wore you down."

I down the last of my lemon drop, the last droplets of alcohol coating my tongue. It's a big space we're in but this feels weirdly intimate, him being so close. I'd get closer to him, drenched in his scent if I could but I know that there won't ever be a chance again. That ship sailed years ago.

"Here for moral support." Though it's unlikely that Vision needs it. The place is packed full of people who love and admire him. Clout chasers follow behind him when he schmoozes, the sounds of the new album pumping through the speakers. It's actually not bad. Massive Attack meets Elton John in a weird way. It works.

I feel awkward, unsure of what to say. He looks really good. The white button shirt shows off the roped muscles in his arms and his slacks and shoes look expensive. He can afford it though. I'm just an imposter with a great friend who has an eye for style.

"What have you been up to? It's been like what, four years?"

“Graduated with my Masters from Yale, did some non-profit legal advising and then I made partner and started my own firm. Vision talked me into advising him and things sort of took off from there. Had a lot of clients come my way after that. Didn’t think I would be into entertainment law but, you know, stranger things have happened.”

So that's why he was here. He was Vision's lawyer. Didn't see that one coming.

“Masters? Wow. I tried college but the timing never seemed to work out. I work at the Witmark part time.”

“Part time.” He repeated it like he didn't understand. Maybe he was disappointed that I didn't end up doing something with my life.

"Not a lot of jobs out there, you know?" I know it was stating the obvious but I felt like I needed to remind him.

He nods, the music suddenly breaking through when it changes to some mystical chimes and Vision's spoken word blares over it.

"It's been a long time." He sounds sad when he says it but I'm not sure if that's because I'm wanting him to or if that is what he's feeling.

"Sure has."

The ice rattles in his glass as he finishes it. He pushes off the bar and looks around, checking for something. Maybe. I'm not quite sure.

"Let's talk outside. I can't hear a thing."

Steve holds out his hand, waiting for me to take it so I can be helped off the chair. When I take it, his hand is warm and it lingers a little before he lets go once I set foot on the floor.

✖️

The humidity hits me in the face, feeling like I’ve just stepped out of the shower. Thin clouds stretched out like pulled cotton candy overhead while we walk, passing a water fountain before he finally speaks, jamming his hands in his pockets with a deep breath.

“You never called me.” It’s quiet, more of a starting point of our conversation than an accusation as he says it.

“You said if I needed you for anything. I’ve been doing okay.”

He scoffs, his head bowing with a shake of disbelief.

“Okay. If you say so.”

Irritation floods my face at his response. “Why do you even care? Haven’t heard a word from you. Communication goes both ways.”

“Why do you think I came here?”

“You’re his lawyer.”

Steve swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing quickly. Small beads of sweat formed on his neck from the heat, highlighted under the paper lanterns.

“I wanted to make sure you were taken care of.”

“I’m fine.”

Far from but he doesn’t need to know it. Memories rush back to me being eighteen, wrapped in his arms and drunk from my graduation party with a flask that Scott Lang snuck in. My lips against his, a plea later on to take me away from this city where I felt like I was drowning. The rejection and eventual dismissal was swift.

He could have been my savior, my lifeline. Instead I was brushed away like a second thought.

“You had things to accomplish in your life, remember?”

“I was trying to protect… fine,” he says with a defeated sigh. “I’m going back inside. For what it’s worth, I did miss you. I still do. You look beautiful tonight.”

Before I can offer a rebuttal, he turns and leaves.

It still feels like a punch to the gut as it did years ago.


	4. Chapter 4

Like a modern-day Cinderella without the missing shoe, I’m in an Uber before midnight, sending Wanda an apology text for leaving early.

His scent lingered on my palm from when I’d taken his hand hours earlier. The silver lining of the night was watching the light flick on, a small victory before I turned it off, flopping onto the couch to look at the ceiling, pressing the backs of my palms into my eyes to well up the tears.

It’s too quiet but I don’t feel like searching for the remote, lodged somewhere in the deep cushions.

Steve takes up residence in my head. I don’t need to think about him. Muscle memory allows me to push away the worst thoughts that would elicit a response, but I feel like I need to give it – _him_ – space inside my mind to get over whatever these feelings are.

If I close my eyes tight enough, blocking out what little light there is from the digital clock on the microwave, I can see his eyes, bluer than the clearest sky in summer under long light brown lashes and to the light moles against his neck that I once traced sleepily with my fingers. Remembering what it felt like to rest my head against his shoulder before it all went wrong.

Too many emotions, too much time to drown in the abyss. Sleep comes over me before I have a chance to beg for it.

✖️

I wake up much later than intended, running into work ten minutes after my shift officially started. I fiddle with my name tag as I walk past Clint's office, not looking up from his computer before he reminds me of my tardiness.

“You’re late. Better get out there. MJ’s out there by herself. Like a stampede with all the departures.”

MJ flashes an appreciate smile in my direction, her fingers flying over the keyboard before she turns back to her guest, her customer service voice extra cheerful.

Departures can go either way. Most of the time it’s cut and dry and other times, the laundry list of what went wrong the entire stay bubbles to the surface, not a word spoken the entire trip until It’s time to pay up.

I check out two guests before Natasha comes my way without me asking, Prada sunglasses covering her eyes and half of her face, her skin flushed. The telltale sign of a hangover.

She motions to someone while I’m pulling up her file and I’m hit with Steve’s scent before I even see him walk up. The dread sinks in my stomach, bitter and caffeinated, waiting for the rest of my body to respond. 

“Checking out?” I ask, trying to throw all of my focus onto the screen. He's in my peripheral as I finish closing up her file while simultaneously trying not to piece together how they are together. It shouldn't matter but it does.

Natasha purrs a confirmation, turning to graze her lips against Steve’s earlobe. From the turn of her head, I can see her eyes are closed, lost in her public display of affection. His are wide open, pupils dilated while watching me before he returns her affection with a hand gliding down her back. The sign in his eyes reserved for her, not for me.

“All set,” I force myself to say with a wide smile. Customer service tip #1 is to always smile. Even when the urge to cry is overwhelming.

Steve’s hands pull down on Natasha’s arms gently, giving them just enough space apart that she realizes that I’m still standing there, waiting for them to leave. She nods a thank you in my direction.

“Why don’t you go to the car, Nat? I need get a detailed list of charges for accounting. You know Rhodes, he likes his itemizations.”

“Of course, baby,” Natasha answers, sauntering off toward the exit like a Beta Marlene Dietrich. “Don’t be too long.”

There’s a reddish purple mark on his neck. Small but noticeable. I have no reason to be jealous but the tide crashes over me, leaving me to catch a breath. I'd leave bite marks, not hickeys. Maybe it's a Beta thing.

I slide the paper over to him, surprise in his eyes at how quickly I was able to have it ready. “Here you go.”

I close out some programs so it appears that I’m multitasking but the busy work doesn’t help the fact I want to disappear into the ground. There are seeds of disappointment in how he stares at me, from the paper and back to me, waiting for something, anything, to grow out of the silence we've found ourselves in.

“Oh. Thanks.”

He folds it quickly without reading, stuffing it into his pocket. Steve lingers at the counter, his mouth moving like he wants to say something but stops, mute for a second as his jaw sets into a frown. The vein in his neck flexes for a moment, appearing on the surface and then it disappears.

I finish our interaction for him. It's been at least five minutes. Two more and Clint will make me watch the 'Time is Money' video.

“My pleasure. Anything else I can do for you?”

His eyes don't leave me and he leans in closer, the hickey coming into focus. I savor his scent that amplifies with him closing the gap, trying to commit it to memory before he disappears out of my life once more.

“Don’t do this,” he asks, more like a plea, his voice strained.

I try to match his stare with as much bravery as I can, giving him my best smile as Clint returns to check on me. “The guest service number is on the front if you need additional assistance.”

I can’t hide the lump that is forming in my throat. Everything in my brain tells me that it’s wrong to even be upset. This is logical. It makes sense, him being with Natasha. High profile enough that she was established in her own right. I doubt he would ever have to ask her if she was okay because she had her shit figured out.

Steve's eyes flicker up to Clint's when he notices him hovering, a forged smile that I know is mostly for my benefit so that Clint isn't thrown off by how I've stopped talking.

“Thank you for your help.”

“Of course. Have a great afternoon.” It's mechanical, muscles working together in unison to make the smile appear on my lips.

We share a long glance before his hand slides away from the counter and he leaves.

Before I have a chance to take a breath, a personal assistant trying to answer two out of the four phones she’s juggling walks up to my counter and begins rambling about check out. There's no time for me to grieve.

It's probably better that way.

✖️

“What’s your favorite Radiohead lyric?” Maria spins us on the roundabout in the playground, stars spread across the night sky in a celestial blanket.

It's a distraction but I can't sit in my apartment and have Steve invade my thoughts again.

I’m dizzy from the weed and the spinning isn’t helping but anything is better than feeling empty. Maria’s moving out in a few weeks and the small circle of neighbors I’ve gotten to know will shrink once more.

Things were already official with Carol but now she has the mark on her gland to prove it. It peeks out from her v-neck up when she tips the bottle of Koloa Rum to her lips before the top of her shoe propels us forward. I don’t have to contemplate my answer.

“That’s easy.”

She crouches down as the roundabout spins slowly, holding on the metal bar while she waits for my answer.

“I want to be someone else or I’ll explode.” It’s not anywhere close to the stylings of Thom Yorke but I try my best.

Maria nods, her short black hair lifting in the breeze. Two grown adults in a kids’ playground. If only life could be as simple as it appears right now

“Drill holes in themselves and live for their secrets…”

A beat.

“Uptighttt,” we croon together, too high to give a shit if we’ll never be professional singers.

The roundabout slows to a stop. My equilibrium is off, but I wiggle down to move us forward because I like the dazed feeling, like my head won't stop spinning. Maria lays across from me, bodies on opposite sides but our heads almost touching.

“You’ll get out of here too.”

It’s a motivating promise that I want so badly to believe in. Smoke filters from her lips and plumes into the sky while I take a final swig of rum.

“It’s not a prison, Maria.” Even when I say the words, I don’t believe them.

“Feels like it sometimes.”

I pass her back the bottle and close my eyes. If I wish hard enough, the roundabout will go faster and faster until it spins off the Earth and hurdles into space. Then I won't have to come back here and feel like this. Longing and empty.

“Are you sure you’re okay? You’ve never been able to keep up with me before.”

“I’m not keeping up. I’m tapping out.” The inside of my mouth tingles with the alcohol.

Maria offers me a hand up and stumble forward like a baby deer before she loops an arm around me and we walk toward my apartment.

“Just promise me you’ll get the hell out of here eventually. This place? It's supposed to be a safe space, a springboard to move on and live better lives. Don’t get complacent.”


	5. Chapter 5

Clint pulls me into his office right when I clock in, closing the door and leaning against his desk, his head bowed.

My first thought is that I’m in trouble. Closed door conversations are never good.

“Relax,” Clint says with a wave of his hand. “I’m not firing you.”

Before I start to say something, he lifts up his hand. He looks defeated, glancing at the floor for a moment, like he’s trying to search for courage in this ugly brown carpet.

“Corporate sent out an email this morning. You're the first one to get the news. They've decided to cut hours of part timers.”

It’s hard not to blurt out how I feel but immediately my heart starts to race as all the possibilities of not paying the bills I already owe come crashing down.

“We’re entering slow season and shit, I know you need the money and you’ve been really good with picking up shifts but it's not my call. There’s a cap on hours for the next three months. No more than twenty a week.”

I average almost thirty, maybe more, on a good week. The wind feels like it’s been knocked out of my sails and it adds to an already sad few days. If I had any tears left, they would be shed but nothing comes.

“I’m sorry, kiddo. Maybe you can get a second job for a little.”

I couldn't tell him that second job I had was one I had been already been trying to quit.

✖️

Brock’s hero is Patrick Bateman. In his large office, there’s a giant movie posted encased in a frame, signed by the author of the book. Brock never made it to Wall Street but he didn't need to.

He found his calling while still in high school, working in the school office. Student records, he found, were the perfect bargaining chip. He’d roam the halls, picking out anyone he deemed vulnerable. 

His preference was Omegas. Easy targets.

If an Omega was failing a class, there was a saving grace in the polished but mercurial Brock Rumlow. Slick, Brock found out, sells. For a lot of money.

There was already a market for this type of request but to have that essence, an Omega in the throes of heat was lucrative. There was a niche for this type of item and it was sold off to the highest bidder - usually an rich Beta or Alpha who could afford it. When that happened, it was instant redemption. Suddenly your school of choice was back in the pipeline and all you had to do was put on a pair of underwear.

They didn’t even have to be your favorite pair.

Now that he's established in his own right, it’s never advertised that he’s looking for Omegas. He runs the risk of All referrals are done by word of mouth. Easier to track. I’d been approached in the grocery store, picking out the cheapest bottle of wine I could find. Apparently my desperation didn’t need to have a scent. A few words were exchanged about making extra money and a business card slipped into my hand. To this day, I haven’t referred anyone. I’m not sure I ever want to.

Especially now as I sit in his office, watching Brock blow a line of smoke from his Cohiba Behike cigar - which is expensive, he reminds me. Twice.

“Thanks for coming in, I know I freaked you out when I said it was urgent but hell, it's a good thing. You've sold really well, kid. So well that we gotta negotiate new terms. I’m taking a thirty percent cut of your profits on your next set.”

There would be no way I could manage with my hours being cut at the hotel and him taking double. The air I inhale is all cigar and Brock's thick cologne. It makes me want to choke but I sputter for a different reason.

“What? Why?”

Looking at me like I'd grown horns out of my head, he loosened his tie, leaning back in his chair. He tapped the ash into the tray before he continued.

“I told you. There’s a demand. The waiting list is full until you have your next heat. What are you so worried about? More money in your pocket once I up the price and I _will_ charge more. You're worth it."

I imagined dollar signs in his eyes while he gave me a smarmy smile. Dread began to set in. “Not with your thirty percent.”

“You need more money?” He raised an eyebrow at me. “This is your side job, isn’t it? Working at that swanky hotel not netting you enough?”

I won’t tell him my hours were cut. That would be an opportunity for him to persuade me to put more effort, maybe finally sign up for one of his new ideas. It hits me that he mentioned there is a waiting list. People signing up, waiting for my biology to take place so they could get off.

“There’s a few clients I know who will pay a lot of money for some personalized attention. Upwards of twenty thousand if you're interested. I’d take fifty percent of your profits.”

I didn’t like the sound of it. Too ominous. A guest speaker at my complex spoke about this once. I'd gone for the free cookies and punch. I wished I had paid attention to what he had been saying.

“Fifty?”

Another line of smoke blew out from his lips as he gave me a knowing nod.

“It’s a big risk. Especially if you don’t come back. It happens, you know. People look at this big payday and don't realize it comes with a price.”

“Not for me.” I didn’t want to imagine or even entertain the thought of going down that venture.

“Good girl. See, you’re not that desperate. You don't wanna go down that path. Keep having unassisted heats and you could make a fortune.”

✖️

"Guava lemonade. It's good, wanna try?" Wanda pushes her plastic cup toward me, metal straw swinging around the rim.

We're at a trendy coffee shop, the kind where there's a line outside and the menu is small on purpose. It looks like a science lab, the chairs like the ones in high school biology. Just a metal stool with cement tables. Industrial chic with random periodic elements in frames. She had called me one I stepped outside his office. Almost as if she knew that I needed a friend.

I took a sip of her lemonade, which was surprisingly good and made me rethink my choice of a black unsweetened ice tea. I nodded my approval and my eyes wandered to their help wanted sign in the small window.

"What?" Wanda turned around in her chair to search where I was looking.

"Nothing. They're looking for help."

"Three jobs?"

I lower my eyes back to my half empty cup before I tell her the truth.

"My hours got cut from the hotel. I'm thinking about quitting my side gig so..." I pick at the sticker with my name on it that's slapped across the cup.

"Oh my gosh, are you serious? You and MJ keep that place together. I'm so sorry." Ever the empath, Wanda's eyes take on a glassy tone and I know she's thinking about how I'm going to survive.

Me too.

"I'll be fine eventually. I'm going to get an application and see where it takes me." I slide off the stool and wait off to the side until a girl with bright pink hair and an earful of piercings notices me. She flashes me a dimpled smile when she reaches me.

"Are you still looking for help?" I try to keep the desperation out of my voice but it's hard.

"Yes! Interested? I'll give you an application. Our manager doesn't get in until next week so you can turn it in whenever." There's a line of people waiting and she's one of two behind the counter. It feels vaguely reminiscent of working at the hotel and I feel her pain.

She disappears into the back to get an application and I watch the baristas in the back scurry around. It's like a coordinated dance, blenders in hand and hot drinks on trays, narrowly missing each other as they spin through the small space.

"I hear the iced Americano here is the best." The voice is almost against the shell of my ear, vibrating down my spine and I jump. When I look back, Steve's standing behind me. He must have gotten off work, clad in black suit pants and a tucked in white shirt, the roped muscles still visible inside his shirt.

"Didn't mean to scare you. Thought you would have known it was me." He smiles sheepishly.

"What are you doing here?" I glance back to see what's taking so long and I realize that I'm really just looking for an out. It hasn't been that long.

"I didn't get a chance to tell you at the party... but I moved to LA about three months ago. It's been back and forth from New York but I'm settled now. It's a new normal. I've got some briefings I need to look over when I get home so I usually stop here before I make a night out of it."

He's been in LA for three months. In my city, probably dinner dates at Nobu Malibu with Natasha and private jets to Napa for wine tasting. A perfect life.

My pink haired savior hands me an application, giving us both a polite nod before she runs back to help out her beleaguered co-worker. Steve raises an eyebrow at the application I'm holding at my side.

"Looking for another job?"

"Yeah. My hours were cut from the hotel so... gotta pay the bills somehow." I laugh it off like a bad joke, feeling the paper begin to wrinkle between my thumb and fingers.

"Sorry to hear that. Is there anything I can do to help?" The Omega in me preens in response to his question. His tie is hanging around his neck loosely, a patch of skin on his neck exposed. I hone in on it, trying to avoid looking at his concerned stare.

"Iced Americano for Steve?" a barista calls out, the sound of a cup hitting the counter.

I try to move out of his way but he places a hand on my upper arm to stay put and moves around me to grab the cup. I get a healthy dose of his scent, my eyes closing briefly to wonder what it would be like to be caught in the rain with him, droplets against his face and my own, the smell of rain intensified with his body against mine.

"Steve!" Wanda's cry of surprise breaks me out of my stupor and I break away, heading back to my chair while she waves to him wildly.

He sits next to me after he hugs Wanda and I stir the ice cubes in my drink, like clear buoys in a churning black sea.

"Iced Americano?" Wanda guesses, pointing a finger at his cup.

"My go to."

"The best. Hang on, I gotta go to the bathroom. Be right back. Don't go anywhere." It's meant for Steve, which means I could make a break for it. Up and walk away, disappear down a jutted sidewalk and call an Uber.

Instead I sit, taking a long sip while I contemplate what to say. There's only one option.

"I didn't realize you were dating someone."

He nods, clearing his throat under the uncomfortable silence. “Natasha. Uh yeah, it’s been off and on for about a year now.”

“Seems serious."

“It could be. I don’t know. We were having fun."

I finish the last of my tea, the ice cubes melting.

"Either way, it's someone you can take care of. You like doing that. Helping people." The delivery had sounded better in my head but once it's out, it's like white hot rage and I grab my cup before I hop off the stool to throw it in the trash. I wipe off the metal straw and toss the cup, lingering by the window longer than I needed to until Wanda comes back.

"Vis called. I gotta pick up something for him on the way back home. You don't mind do you? It's in Pasadena and I know that's a drive -"

Steve interrupts quickly. "I'll take you home."

Wanda waits for my approval but I know an Alpha command when I hear one. Wanda smiles when I nod in her direction before she envelopes us in a double hug and the back of his hand skims against my thigh with the force of her arms.

"See you later!"

Steve fishes his keys out of his pocket, drink in hand before he holds open the door for me.

"Ready?"


	6. Chapter 6

My gaze drifts to him when he isn’t watching, his eyes sweeping back and forth on the road. Always a defensive driver, calculating the moves of the motorists who share the highway. With how expensive his Tesla seemed to be, I couldn’t blame him. A model S, in fact. These cost more money than I will probably ever make.

Mentally I fill out the application in my hands, envisioning the ink on the paper and how I’ll write in block letters because my a’s look a lot like o’s. The map on his console chimes in and commands a direction to turn.

“You know, I could ask around and see if anyone is looking for help in my building.” Steve’s arm flexes as he turns the steering wheel to the left, his eyes still on the road. “I’m sure there’s probably full time available. Medical benefits, 401K. If you’re interested.”

The offer hangs in the air while the light turns red. He relaxes his forearm on the console, tapping his fingers against it in tune to some light acid jazz that’s playing that I barely noticed until now.

Medical benefits would be nice. The ones I have are state mandated. Not terrible. Not enough to get suppressants. Once I hit eighteen, it was seen as elective, despite the push from Omega lawmakers who had pushed for it to be necessary. It would be nice not to be scented, especially on the cusp of a heat. I couldn’t afford them now and even the ones that were given out at the clinic were low dosage and triggered breakthrough heats.

“Maybe.”

Tension seemed to leave him, a small smile appearing on his lips as the light turned green.

“Great. I’ll start asking around. Maybe you won’t have to fill that out after all.”

I smooth out the paper with my hand and look at the back. References. It lists five spaces. I have maybe three, if I count MJ.

“I probably should fill it out anyway. Just in case.”

His eyes focus on the road but I can see the disappointed frown. “Sure. Whatever you think is best.”

Steve swallows hard, eyes flickering down to the map and then back to the road. My apartment complex comes into view and I prepare my goodbye in advance while he turns into the parking lot. I motion to the right, away from the gate.

He raises an eyebrow while he parks, putting the car into park.

I mumble the reason that always seems to offend anyone who can’t go inside. “No Alphas allowed in. It’s easier this way.”

He scoffs, shaking his head in disbelief. “Seriously? That’s some outdated policy.”

I shrug. Not my rules to break. If the citations add up, there’s a chance you can get kicked out. I don't need more strikes against me.

“I didn’t make the rules. But it’s been home for three years and I’d like to keep it that way.”

Steve looks over the steering wheel, his eyes lifting to the cream colored buildings with wide windows and open spaces.

“If it didn’t have grass, it would look like a prison,” he mutters, unimpressed. His hands drape against the wheel while I gather the courage to leave.

I know should go. I have a job application to fill out and a grocery list to make. All excuses that I deem important so I can get away to the space of my lonely apartment.

“Thanks for the ride home.”

He looks surprised and for a moment I wonder if it is because of my gratitude until I realize it’s something deeper. I can feel it, from his gaze to his scent that changes with his mood, stronger and more concentrated. Guilt perhaps, but I won’t get closer than I already am.

“Wait.” He says it quietly, fingers slipping from the wheel. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about Natasha.”

I straighten in my seat, reaching for the door handle. With a squeeze of my eyes, I hope my voice doesn't waver when I answer.

“There’s nothing to apologize for. It’s been years, Steve.”

It all comes crashing back. Her hanging over him, his eyes watching me and his plea for me to not dismiss him before he slipped away from the counter. My eyes carry up to his neck to see if I can see the mark she left but I stop at the second button from the top. It wouldn’t serve me if I saw it anyway.

“I know how it looked with Natasha. I didn’t get a chance to tell you the night at Vision’s party. I should have told you." He looked down at his hands, not making eye contact with me. Almost an admission of guilt.

“It was wishful thinking from years ago.” I lied, my fingers gripping the door handle. One gentle tug and I would be out. These hopes and dreams I had would linger and dissipate with a single close of the door.

“It wasn’t.” His voice was harder, determined. “Not for me. I do want to protect you. Take care of you. I -”

A lump was beginning to form in my throat. I found myself interrupting him, trying to cut him off so that I wouldn’t have to deal with the heightened emotions that were battling for space in my chest and the involuntary tremble of my lip.

“Steve."

"Is this what you want? Living on the edge, barely making it to survive? You won't take anything from Bucky or Rebecca. Winnie said she's been asking you to come stay with her and you won't."

The words fly like bullets out of my mouth. "I'm not their responsibility. I'm not yours either."

“You should be.”

His hand brushed against my chin, his wrist brushing against my jaw while his fingers threaded through my hair. The rush of pheromones were like a tidal wave, pulling me under a heady sea of him. His pupils blown wide, his teeth grazing his lower lip.

His lips brushed against my nose and up to my forehead. Instinct took over and I held his hand still, fingers touching the inside of his wrist where his pressure point was throbbing. 

His forehead was hot to the touch when he rested his head against mine. I don’t want to open my eyes, afraid I’ll ruin the moment that I’ve chased after for three years. A high that I won’t ever get to have again.

“How I felt for you never went away. Distance made it harder and I’ve tried to give you a chance to live your life away from me but I want you. In every way.”

His words spill out against my cheeks like a prayer. There's nothing else. All I can feel is him.

Natasha slips into my thoughts and the high comes crashing down. Even if time has stopped like it has right now in this car, I know that somewhere the watch will reset and I’ll have to face the truth that he’s with her. He scented me just as much as I did him and I know that she’ll know it was me.

“I have to go.” I’m not convincing in the slightest but it’s the best I can do when I pull away, 

“You’re running away.”

“This,” I motion to both of us before I take a cleansing breath. “Can’t happen. You’re seeing someone, remember?”

“I know.”

Sadness leaves a bitter taste in my mouth, burning my tongue as I feel the all too familiar lump in my throat.

“So… it’s better if we leave it here.”

The door alarm pings as I open the door and slip out as he calls my name, the humidity still hanging in the air and sticking to my clothes, making me warmer than I already was from our encounter. 

I give him one last look before I make the walk toward the apartment, already knowing full well I’m going to cry but he’s watching me, his eyes glassy as he nods. 

An understanding that neither of us want to accept.


	7. Chapter 7

“Shit. I think we drank too much.”

MJ looks up at the ceiling in my apartment, reaching her hands to the sky. Empty bottles of Jägermeister lined the counter, including the bottle of their own brand of cold brew that did us in. We’re fucked up but can’t sleep, caffeine and alcohol surging through our veins. MJ rolls over, her wavy hair catching under her forearm as she winces.

“You ever wanna be mated? I’ve been asking myself that a lot lately,” she admits, her head leaning on her arm. “I know it’s like, the right thing to do, as an Omega but there’s more than just a mating scar and Alpha pheromones, right? I have shit to do.”

There are two more shots lined up on the table that we haven’t touched. I’m messed up but not enough to know that reaching for another would be a bad idea.

“I dunno. What about Peter?” I ask, watching her reach for another shot before she changes her mind.

“That’s the thing. I get high off his scent, ya know? Start thinking about all the Omega dreams of white picket fences and babies. We’re barely making it as it is but sometimes in the heat of the moment, I feel myself saying damn, bite me already and just get it over with. Whatever happens, we’ll handle it. That’s not sustainable. I know that, deep down. But I still feel it under my skin. Like it’s just supposed to happen and I’ll be okay with it. Mating is weird and wonderful at the same time.” MJ closes her eyes, which I guess is from her impassioned speech that has made her dizzy.

Despite her eyes being shut and slurring her words, she still manages to keep talking.

“You smell like Alpha. Let’s change the subject and talk about _that_.”

I reach for the shot glass and down it without thinking, the burning sensation no longer an issue. It warms my insides and I feel the tingle on my tongue – a warning to stop while I’m ahead. The liquid courage helps me admit what I was trying to hide.

“It’s nothing. I wish it was more but it’s not.”

“Explain,” MJ commands, lying flat on her back. “I’ve got nothing but time.”

“You remember Natasha Romanoff when she was checking out.”

MJ’s eyes pop open.

“Total babe, red hair, nice body? Sure do.”

I squeeze my eyes shut, feeling the buzz swirl around my head.

“It was her boyfriend.” It feels like a dirty little secret but it feels better to get it out and into the open.

“No way! You lie. He’s cute.”

“I wish. I’ve known him since I was kid. Always had a crush but he never… never really was interested.”

MJ pulls at my arm and sniffs.

“Smells like he was interested to me.”

I pull my arm away and her snort of laughter is contagious.

“He said so. But it’s always been like that. Almost to the breaking point and then he backs off. Flies to another state or gets a girlfriend. I should stop hoping something would happen. Actually, I take that back. I have stopped thinking it. It won’t.”

“I highly doubt if he wasn’t interested that you wouldn’t be reeking of Alpha.”

I’d get up and shower to prove a point but I feel like my bones are made of gelatin.

“I’m too drunk for this conversation,” I admit finally, hanging off the side of the couch.

MJ rouses from what I already knew was a drunken stupor. “Me too. Can I crash here tonight? I’ll buy us breakfast in the morning.”

✖️

The breeze in Venice Beach is cold, sneaking under my hoodie and making me shiver. MJ had the great idea to eat outside and now we’re freezing, drinking mimosas out of plastic cups and sharing a plate of macadamia pancakes. Both of us are hungover but big sunglasses hide the bloodshot eyes and block out what little of the sun is out.

MJ scrolls through her phone while I take a chance to finally drink some water. We're the only idiots brave enough to be out here this early in the morning in the cold, sitting outside eating pancakes that seem to get colder with every bite.

“Hey, look at this.”

She slides her phone over to me. There’s a picture of Natasha caught by paparazzi walking her dog. Same giant glasses covering her face as the ones she was wearing at the hotel, a fancy gym outfit and expensive tennis shoes to match her ensemble.

_Newly Single Natasha Romanoff Takes a Walk in NYC After Break Up with Lawyer Boyfriend Steve Rogers_

There’s a weird sense of sadness that overtakes me when I push the phone back to MJ. The pancakes are saturated with syrup, soaked up like a sponge when I take another bite.

“That’s it? You’re not going to say anything else?” MJ finishes her mimosa in one gulp, peering over her sunglasses at me.

“What am I supposed to say? I think we ended whatever weird thing we had in the car on a note that it couldn’t happen again.”

“But he’s single now,” she sang. “That changes things.”

It didn’t. We were leading different lives and no one ever wants to be the rebound. Especially the rebound Omega. It reeked of bad tropes. Like the soap operas when the big strong Alpha rounds the corner to sweep the Omega off their feet and expresses it was them who they were in love with all along.

We sit in silence, MJ deep in a text conversation with Peter, scoffing at his responses while the wind whips through the table, lifting the napkins and pushing the empty cups to the ground.

“Are you gonna eat the rest of the pancakes?” MJ asks, her fork at the ready.

I push the plate toward her and text Wanda. Nothing major, just a hello. It’s also fishing for information because I’m curious to know if she knows anything. It’s my day off, the first I’ve had in almost a week and a half. I probably shouldn’t spend it thinking about Steve.

We’re supposed to walk on the pier after breakfast. We both shiver, almost in unison.

“It’s fucking cold,” MJ says finally, dropping a few bills on the table. “Let’s go.”

✖️

We pull into the complex, still slightly hungover but defrosted from the cold. MJ doesn’t bring up the fact that she has to work double shifts because my hours were cut but she mumbles needing to go somewhere and I know it’s work, which makes me feel guilty, even when it isn’t my fault.

“When do you work next?”

I scroll through my phone, a text from Wanda popping up while I look through the calendar.

“Wednesday. Short shift.”

MJ groans, tossing her head back against the headrest.

“He’s killing me with this schedule. Sure, the hours are nice but it would be nice to have a life. This was the first time I was able to do something. Barton needs a backbone.”

“Wish I could help,” I say dryly, getting out of the car. “See you Wednesday.”

As she drives away, I feel the familiar change in body temperature, my hand instinctively going to my head. It’s warm. By the time I get through the door and take my temperature, it’s well over the usual temp. A breakthrough heat. Caused by Steve.

I could let Brock know. This means extra money, a blessing in disguise and all I have to do is send him a text. It feels weird now, even sitting here and waiting for the inevitable to have it be collected and shipped off. Maybe it’s the hormones making me feel like I shouldn’t do it.

I hover over his name until I remember Wanda’s text. It’s an invitation for dinner. Moments later, she sends me a picture of Vision and Steve, making dinner together in her giant kitchen.

Replying back that I’m sick and sorry to miss it seems to suffice when I drag myself to bed and wait for the inevitable.


	8. Chapter 8

A sharp knock wakes me from a deep sleep, disoriented and dizzy before I hear it once more. Cramps have begun. Not enough to warrant a day in bed but enough to cause discomfort and the ache spreads to my back as I stand, stiff with sleep and cramps.

When I finally make it to the door, Wanda’s rubbing her arms, eyes red from crying. She managed to give me a small smile before she sniffs and walks in when I hold the door wider for her.

She paces in a small circle, unsure of what to say, her hands covering her mouth before she sinks into the couch.

“I’m sorry,” she begins, taking a deep breath. “We just had a fight and I thought I’d be fine but now I’m crying so apparently it’s not all fine. I came to check on you and I’m over here blubbering. Sorry.”

Her head rests against my shoulder while I wrap my arms around her. It’s twofold. Her scent calms me and I’m there to nurture her in any way I can. Two little peas in an emotional pod.

“What happened?”

She fidgets with the rings on her fingers. “We’ve been talking about the future and what that looks like. My art has been doing well and I feel like it’s time for the next step. He says it’s too soon. It’s always too soon or maybe later.”

Kids.

Wanda loves them, she’s the best aunt to her brother Pietro’s children, who she can’t get enough of. There’s always a wistful in her voice when we shop, ducking into baby stores where she fawns over onesies and baby toys. She’ll get close to buying something, carrying it with her as she walks through the aisles with her blue-eyed wonder stare until she wistfully puts it back and there’s a small period of silence where she mourns the amount of time that passes. Vision is all about making experimental music and traveling. A larger than life being who has all this love in his heart for Wanda and his music but not much space for something that would threaten to take up his time.

There’s nothing to say to appease her that wouldn’t be pandering. So I hold onto her, letting her tears soak up on my t-shirt. Sometimes there’s nothing you can do but be their anchor and that’s okay.

“It’ll be fine,” Wanda says with a final sniffle. “I came over here for you. Are you feeling better?”

Her hand lifts to my forehead and she frowns.

“Heat?”

I nod, gritting my teeth as a cramp takes hold.

“Why don’t you stay with us? We just renovated the pool house a few months ago. You know I’ve been practically begging for you to live there.” She gives me a small nudge and a hopeful smile.

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” I start, hating that I need to ask the question that is dancing on the tip of my tongue. “Is Steve still there?”

“For a little…” Wanda nods in understanding my question. “You could hide out in the pool house though. I know it’s not the ideal situation but you’ll be miserable here. I can cook and we can hang out when you feel better.”

There’s a small plea in her sales pitch and I know it’s because she doesn’t want to be alone. With the new album, Vision has more promo and more promo means Wanda left alone, especially when it’s the local circuit. She looks around my apartment and back to me.

“I know,” I mutter, bending to straight my back. “You hate it.”

“I don’t hate it. I just think you’d have more space if you lived somewhere else. You know, like with me.”

“Okay, okay,” I relent, watching her smile. “For a little. I hate being a burden.”

“Which you aren’t. Do you need help packing?”

Before I have a chance to answer, she hops up and heads toward my bedroom.

✖️

It feels like I’m being smuggled away with the way Wanda walks to the pool house, looking behind her shoulder before she opens the door and locks it behind us. It has the newly renovated smell of new paint and furniture, a small kitchen to the right of us and the living room space was minimally decorated with a door to the left that Wanda opened and placed my stuff inside the bedroom. Wanda was right. It was much bigger than my apartment. A light gray granite walk-in shower that was bigger than my kitchen was part of the connecting bathroom.

She pulls open a small closet and she points to the stacked sheets and towels before the cramps become too much and I crawl into the bed.

“Sorry,” I whisper, trying to fight off the feeling of wanting to cry.

Breakthrough heats are the worst kind and it’s been so long since I’ve had one that I forgot how bad they are.

“Do you need anything? The fridge is stocked if you’re hungry. I can probably order something,” Wanda says in a whisper, although I’m not sure why.

Oddly enough, I feel soothed by her words before I shake my head.

“I don’t usually eat when it’s like this but thank you,” I tell her, her face filled with worry.

“But you’ve had heats that last a week, sometimes more, don’t you? You don’t eat during that time?”

I probably should but the pain is too much and when it gets bad enough, I fall asleep. I know better than to tell Wanda this. I know my body can handle it but saying it out loud seems like I’ll wither and die.

“How does MJ do it?” Wanda rubs my back slowly. “Does she take anything?”

“No,” I breathe through another shock of pain. “She has Peter. Alphas help.”

“Maybe I can ask Steve if he knows anything –“

“No, no, it’s okay. I’ll be fine. I just need to sleep. I promise, I’ll feel better in a little.”

The very last thing I needed was Steve to see me like this. It would have been easy to find an Alpha to help me through my heats years ago but the money I had brought in with the website had been enough for me to suffer unattended. Even at the mention of his name, I remembered his scent and rolled over as slick threatened to seep through.

“Okay. Well, just call me and I’ll come running. Try to get some rest,” Wanda said finally with a small smile.

I woke hours later, blankets kicked off and my pants rolled halfway up my calves. Whatever I was fighting in my sleep, I hoped I had won. I peeled off my clothes and headed for the shower. I was content to stay in there for the rest of the night but common sense won out and I dried off, pulling on a satin robe while I dried my hair. For the moment, I felt better. Enough to eat something and appease my stomach and Wanda.

I opened the sliding glass door, the cool breeze moving through the space. I cut up some strawberries and took the bowl outside, the pool still while I walked toward the hammock, easing into it and looking up at the stars above. This was infinitely better than staring at the blank walls in my apartment.

The hammock rocks gently, enough for me to feel movement but not enough to flip me over, which is one of my fears.

One of my favorite games as a child was to close my eyes and think of a place. Anywhere in the world and insert myself there. For years it was Portugal and then England. This time it was on some far away beach, Tahiti or Fiji with my feet in the sand and the crystal clear water beckoning me. Sometimes if I thought hard enough, I could even smell the salty breeze. This time, I could only smell the scent of something familiar.

I opened my eyes to see Steve walking toward me. I realized my predicament the same time he did, watching him stop in his tracks.

“You’re in heat.” His jaw clenched as his head lifted up slowly. “Wanda didn’t tell me.”

“I thought you had left,” I countered. “I can go back inside.”

Steve nodded, shoving his hands into his pockets while I tried to get out of the hammock. It was proving harder than expected, rocking harder with every movement I made. Once I planted one foot on solid ground, I inched forward and lifted up to take a step and almost went flying until I fell against something solid. His arms caught me by the waist as I straightened up, realizing how close in proximity we were.

“Thank you,” I murmured, trying to ignore the cramps that now had increased tenfold by being in his presence, my biology crying out for what only an Alpha could give. “I should get back inside.”

His hands left my waist, dropping back to his sides while I saw him breathe harder.

“What were you doing out here?” I asked, trying to move around him. His scent filled my mouth and I withheld the desire to lick my lips, looking at the ground.

“Wanda told me you were here. I wanted to say hello,” he replied, his voice low. “I didn’t realize you were in heat.” 

“Breakthrough. My heat doesn’t start officially for another few weeks.”

He raised an eyebrow at me for a moment and I gave him a knowing look before I walked past him. He held onto my arm gently and I felt his touch all the way to my core, knowing he could see how the outline of my breasts in the thin material and the reaction he had on me.

“I should go back inside.” Even as I said it, my body was reacting, my mating gland throbbing in tune with my core.

“I know, Omega.”

No. We couldn’t do this and I wouldn’t let this happen. I wouldn’t be a rebound, even if it took everything in me to ignore the sound of his voice and the slick that I was trying to hold back. He let me go, his teeth grazing his lower lip as I opened the sliding glass door.

“Goodnight, Steve,” I managed to squeak out, watching him stand still for a moment before he gave me a nod and walked away.

Even as I closed the door and locked it, I couldn’t help but watch him disappear back into the house.


	9. Chapter 9

“It’s the heavy whipping cream that gets that pillowy texture for the eggs. Like hotel quality, like on Food Network,” Wanda informs me when I compliment her on our breakfast of eggs and turkey bacon.

I had been assured that it was safe to come inside the house with Steve gone for the day, out with Vision to go over some contracts. He was staying with them for a little while Natasha moved her things out of his house. I took advantage of the few hours I had without pain, thanks to the acetaminophen and long naps. Wanda continued to watch me eat out of the corner of her eyes, too proud to watch me eat and I was too proud to tell her that I was hungry.

I gently ushered her out of the kitchen so I could wash the dishes but she wanted to help dry. It was nice, this domestic chore that I never did at home. I lived off paper plates and take out boxes.

“Did something happen last night? I saw Steve leave and he was gone for a while. When he came back, he didn’t look much better.”

“No,” I lied, feeling my stomach do a flip. An Alpha was trying to help an Omega in heat and I had pushed him away. It still had been the right thing to do but the tears that came while I hid in the shower mingled with the water, trying to wash away his scent so that I could sleep.

As I washed the last plate, down the hall a door opened and I heard Peter Quill’s voice, ending a profanity laced story that garnered laughter from two other voices. I gave Wanda a knowing nod that I was going to head back to the pool house as she took the plate from my hands. I had forgotten they all ran in the same circles. If I wasn’t so ready to hightail back to the safety of the pool house, I would have texted MJ to tell her I’d run into her famous crush.

Vision reached for a high five as I was on my way out and I had to almost hop to connect with his outstretched hand.

“You could stay here, you know. Let Steve sleep in the pool house. Where he belongs,” Vision joked.

Steve’s eyes flickered up to mine as I edged out between him and Quill, who leaned over to me and inhaled.

“New shampoo?” he asked.

“Whatever Wanda has in there. Aveda something,” I answered quickly, the scent of two Alphas making my cramps return full force. Quill’s scent is coffee, crackerjacks and tobacco and it makes my mouth water, even when I don't want it to.

I open the door to the backyard, closing it behind me. I crossed past the pool when I heard my name being called.

Quill.

I kept walking, pretending I didn’t hear him. The last thing I needed was another Alpha trying to get my attention, especially someone like Quill.

He reached me, turning me around gently. His hand raked through his reddish brown hair.

“Hey,” he said, his voice low. At the sound of his voice, I ignored the cramp that took hold.

“I really have to get inside,” I countered, trying not to be rude.

“Yeah, I know. That’s not sweet shampoo I’m smelling. That’s all you. I couldn’t place it before but it all makes sense. I know you.”

“From the hotel, maybe,” I tried to confirm, inching backwards slowly.

“Nope,” he replied, emphasizing the p. “I’d know that scent anywhere. 866342.”

My serial number for the website.

I stopped breathing. Of all the things I shouldn’t have been surprised about, I didn’t know that Peter fucking Quill was going to be a buyer.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I’m a terrible liar but I had to try.

“Best seller, sweetheart. I was on the wait list for months. In fact, I’m on it again. You’re in heat right now. Technically, I should already be an owner of those cute little panties you wear since you've already started.”

“It’s a breakthrough heat.”

“A heat is a heat, isn’t it?” he asked, giving me a wink. “Or maybe we can forgo the underwear and you can let me lick up all that slick in that tight little pussy while you moan face down in a pillow. Fair exchange?”

“N-no,” I stammered, still trying to hold in the slick that made my core ache. “I have to go back inside.”

“No, you don’t. You want to go back inside. You don’t have to. Be a good sport. I don’t wanna have to call Brock and tell him his best girl is holding out on me.”

If he told Brock I was having a heat, I could lose more money. Potentially be out of a job. One that I wanted to quit but couldn’t at the moment.

“No, don’t,” I gritted out. “Don’t tell him. Please.”

Quill raised an eyebrow.

“Then what’s it gonna be?”

“What’s going on?” Steve’s voice cut through our conversation and Quill looked over his shoulder.

“Nothing. We were just talking,” Quill fired back. “Why?”

I made it back to the pool house, slamming the door just in time to see Steve head toward Quill. As tempting as it would be to see an Alpha argument, I barely made it to the bathroom before I doubled over in pain as slick seeped down my thighs.

The voices were loud, even from the safety of the pool house. It got louder and then there was nothing but noise, Wanda shouting and Vision’s profanity laced angry yelling.

I peeked out of the blinds, curiosity getting the better of me to see Quill on the ground and Steve on top of him, a cut seeping from his mouth. Quill looked worse. Steve rolled off Quill as Vision all but plucked him from the ground, pushing him toward the house as Wanda watched with her hand over her mouth.

Steve headed straight for the pool house, ignoring Wanda’s plea to leave me alone. He had already gotten a glimpse of me watching and he stormed up to the sliding glass door.

“Open the door.”

I shook my head. His hair was a mess, the beginnings of a bruise near his left eye and the cut at his lip continued to seep slowly.

“Open this door now, Omega.”

An Alpha command, twice in a row. I unlocked it, opening it slightly but with hardly any space for him to come through.

“Are you selling your slick?” Steve demanded.

I was more angry than sad. He had zero rights over me and it wasn’t his business to know and yet, knowing that he knew made me upset. I was pissed off at Quill for telling and I was pissed off at myself for getting into it in the first place.

“Why?”

“Are you selling your slick? Yes or no.”

“Yes,” I answered quietly.

He shook his head angrily, hands on his hips.

“I told you I would help you. I said anything you need, I would be there –"

“But you weren’t, Steve. I tried. So I’m selling my slick, who cares? At least it’s money.”

“Quill has pairs of your fucking panties. You don’t think that’s weird? Or that he knows what you smell like?”

“I do what I have to do.” I choked back a sob. “You don’t get it. I’m not like you, Steve. I didn’t go to college and leave everyone behind to become some big shot. My mom left me with Winnie when I was fourteen because she didn’t want me to be around her new Alpha husband because she thought I was going to seduce him when I presented as an Omega. Everyone leaves me Steve. If I’m going to be an unwanted Omega, I might as well make some money in the process.”

“You aren’t unwanted,” he replied with a hard swallow, wincing at the remembrance of how I was unceremoniously dropped off. "You know that."

What he fails to remember is that this is where we were before. Everyone always wants something. Brock wants money, Quill wants - well, fuck what Quill wants - and Steve wants to be the protector. It would be so easy to give in at this moment. Ease the ache, the cramps and the stupid reminder of how much I want him. His scent is all I can taste, all Alpha pheromones and fresh from his fight with Quill.

"Am I? Even after what you just found out?"

"Yes," he snapped. "That doesn't change how I feel."

"I can't, Steve. Be a rebound because I'm in heat? Pass."

He narrowed his eyes at me.

"You aren't a rebound."

His voice went lower, almost a growl in his chest. There's the stare, like the one he gave me in the car that simultaneously gives me a flutter inside my stomach and throbs at my core. There's barely enough strength left for me to push the sliding door open wider.

"Fine. Prove it."


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I struggle with smut. Love to read it but can't write it.
> 
> So now I post this and run away.

The door slid closed with a click before he took two steps to reach me. I pushed out the thought that this could be the last time I’d be walking this tightrope of uncertainty. 

After this, where we would go was anyone’s guess. I’d survive this if he proved me right. Maybe not right away but at least I’d have the memory of this to cling to.

I feel eighteen again, ready to throw caution to the wind and throw my arms around him, to let those strong arms lift me and feel like we would melt into each other. Transcending into something otherworldly like I had hoped so long ago.

Steve reached for me, his hand spanning my back, fingers drifting in between the curve of my spine and up to my neck, the pads of this fingers circling my scalp before his lips pressed against my forehead.

At the contact, the breath I had forgotten to exhale left my lips with a shudder. My eyes closed for a brief moment, trying to commit this moment to memory as his lips brush against mine once, slowly, before they made full contact. This time I was ready, years of a lesson ingrained into my psyche before his tongue slipped into my parted mouth.

I waited for him to leave, hesitation sinking into my belly. Turn around and walk away. He’d done it before. It’s a reflex, pulling on his shirt to keep him close, fear coursing through my chest that he won’t pull away before I’m being lifted into his arms. 

My legs wrap around his hips, his arms holding me like I weigh nothing. The kiss is broken for a moment before his nose runs against my neck and jaw, pheromones enrobing us with every step toward the bedroom. My core throbs in response to him scenting me, my fingernails scoring the back of his neck.

When I open my eyes, his pupils are full blown, azure pools of lust.

“I’ve got you, Omega,” he breathed against my neck. “I won’t let you go.”

Even as we make it to the bed, as carefully as he placed me down, he kissed me deeper and I want to beg time to slow down before he lifts the hem of his shirt and pulls it off. He’s all roped muscle and heat, his biceps flexing when he finishes unbuttoning the last of button on my shirt.

It’s like an unveiling, the way he pushes the fabric away to my sides. I forget to breathe when his gaze goes from the top of my head to my breasts.

Steve’s head dipped to kiss the space above my belly button, sending shocks from my core to my legs, my stomach contracting with the sensation before he moved upward, kissing a line up toward my breasts. 

Slick flowed when his lips made contact with my nipple, his tongue circling it lightly. There was no use in holding it in, not when I wanted this.

Him.

A rumble of want drummed from inside his chest at the scent as he went still for a moment.

“I want to go slow,” he strained, his head lowering to bathe attention on my other breast. “I didn’t think I’d ever get the chance to have you.”

The words seem foreign until they sink in, breath caught in my lungs when his mouth begins its descent lower, teeth grazing near my hipbone that makes me shiver.

“Can I?” he asked, pulling me out of my thoughts.

I approved with a nod, unsure of what to do with my hands that were currently fisting the blanket underneath me. I raised my hips to help him, his fingers slipping into the waistband to pull them off, my underwear following behind.

I screwed my eyes shut, aware of just how close we were and how he was still somewhat clothed when I was not.

His nose bumped against chin before he kissed me. He’s always been warm but this is different, the heat almost scorching my skin with every touch and I can’t get enough of it.

“You can open your eyes.,” Steve soothed. “I just want to appreciate how beautiful you are.”

When I finally open my eyes, all I see is blue eyes under long lashes, a small detail I’ve always appreciated. He’s hard - cock straining against his jeans. I resist the urge to make a grab for his belt as he kisses a line back down to my belly and then lower.

Lower still until I stop breathing.

When I remember to, the breaths come in halts, bursts of air that are in time with the sensation of his tongue swirling against my clit. This is foreign, unlike anything I’ve ever been able to create with my own fingers and it feels like heaven, despite the slick that continues to flow and the cramps that intensified at an Alpha being this close.

Strong arms pulled my legs up, his head between my thighs and my fingers in his hair, trying to not be demanding as I know the whimpering that was once an internal monologue and now a full blown plea.

“Please… please….” I could hear myself speaking, like it was a far away mantra, begging to whoever could hear to never let this end.

There was a clink of the belt buckle and the soft hum of a zipper before the bed dipped under his weight as he pulled me gently toward him.

“Are you…” he swallowed hard, restraining himself from making another move. “I can get a condom.”

“I-I’m on the pill,” I rushed out, unsure if I could handle another heat cramp. “I’m okay.”

He teased me slowly, the tip of his cock between my folds before I inched my hips up higher in a bid to make him go faster.

“Alpha,” I whined, loathing the way my voice sounded.

“Patience, Omega,” he reassured me, kissing me. “You have the rest of the day to have me.”

With those words, he pushed inside me. There was a slight pinch of pain but then just fullness. I couldn’t help it, my cunt clamping down on him as he began to move slowly. Enough to make me think I’ll go insane if he doesn’t speed up.

This is what I had needed. The cramps still raged but weren’t as intense. HIs biceps twitched at his pace and I knew he was waiting for me to give him an answer.

I responded in kind by moving my head to the side, mating gland in full view.

“I need you,” I found myself admitting, tears pricking at my eyes. “Please.”

The approval is all that was needed before I feel his lips brush once against my gland then again before his mouth found the perfect spot and he began to suck at the skin.

I could die happy in this moment, his thrusts into me harder than before, legs wrapped around his hips.

I lied. 

There would be no way I could survive this if this didn’t work.

Not with how good he feels, fucking me with an intensity I always knew he had, hidden under the surface of that facade that he put on whenever he was around me.

His hand caressed my face before he kissed me again, silencing my moans for a moment while my nails scored his back. I wanted him to mark me, mate me and never let go.

This was better than how I ever imagined it.

I’m covered in his scent as much as I’m covered in him, his pace steady and deep, his eyes never leaving mine except to kiss me and whisper an apology for leaving me. It’s quiet and lost behind the heavy breathing and gentle squeak of the mattress but it was there.

It was the perfect storm to bring me over the edge, gripping his shoulders as I coasted on the wave of an orgasm. There’s little strength left in me before I feel his knot swell inside me, catching under my pubic bone and I feel him cum, spilling up into me with intensity.

We’re covered in sweat and slick and soon cum once his knot goes down. For now, we are locked together. Steve rolled us over, my hands stacked over his chest as his heart beat rapidly before it started to slow.

I tried to fight sleep as he brushed my hair from my face. I wanted to remember his satisfied smile, the way he held me tight against his chest and the way it felt right to be here with him.

If anything happened, I’d at least have my memories.

His lips brushed against my forehead before he gave me a knowing smile.

“I’ve always wanted you.”


End file.
